


Du Breoal Shur'tugal

by forgottenkeyboard



Series: beyondverse - tales of argetfell [2]
Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Gen, here she is!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgottenkeyboard/pseuds/forgottenkeyboard
Summary: Two new Rider and dragon pairs have just started to settle in to their life in Argetfell. But between wild dragons, well-meaning elves, and overwhelmed teachers... their training has a long way to go yet.





	Du Breoal Shur'tugal

**Author's Note:**

> According to the Ancient Language glossary at the back of "Eragon", _breoal_ means both family and house. I figured it was an apt title for a story about a pretty mismatched group of people who love each other that are trying to change the world. Isn't the American dream thirty one elves, four dragons, a humanish guy, a dwarf, and an Urgal? Plus some of the more wild in-laws?
> 
> This work will be longer (hopefully) than Beyond and will ideally span a few months to a year. We'll be diving headfirst into all the nitty gritties of Rider training, so expect a LOT of borrowed material from Eldest and Brisingr, as that's when we get the bulk of Eragon's own training with Oromis and Glaedr. I'll probably be making a lot of shit up so bear with me y'all, and if you notice something that is WILDLY out of place in this world, then please let me know in the comments... I'll welcome any and all helpful comments, seeing as no one is editing this cobbled-together word vomit before I throw it up here. ;)
> 
> As always, shoot me a comment if you've any suggestions or concerns, and enjoy!

_Keep your wings parallel to the ground! If you bank in a - wait a moment… now! Bank!_

Verea couldn’t stop a toothy grin from stretching across her face as she watched the hatchlings shoot upwards like one of those pointy sticks flung from the curved-wood-two-leg-weapons. She felt a brief flash of concern when burnt-sand-young-Beroan wobbled as he rose, but he quickly compensated with a twist of his wingtips. Beroan and Ingolfr, like all young dragons, had plenty of instinct. They were fairly strong fliers to boot. But instinct could only carry them so far, and instinct certainly couldn’t tell them where to find the best warm-morning-updraft.

The young female followed her charges with an elegant swing of her tail, quickly gaining altitude without a single flap of her wings. She climbed to be level with the sand-and-sky-hatchlings and turned until she was between them, almost touching each of their wingtips.

 _These updrafts are incredible!_ Beroan’s thoughts were flushed with glee.

_This side of the crater is the best place for them. Saphira told me this was the first place I should show you - warm-morning-updraft-off-north-face is where we find the best prey, as well._

_What kind of earth is that along the shoreline?_ Ingolfr asked.

 _It isn’t earth, exactly. Saphira calls it silt-gray-soft-sand. It is almost like the sand in a desert, but made differently - she thinks it came from the natural erosion of the water upon the rock._ The young female considered for a second, then added, _You’ll want to rub your scales in it regularly, then wash it off. It cleans any dirt that clings to you and nothing makes you look more polished._

 _I take it that is where you came from this morning? I had thought to ask how you made your scales shine so brilliantly._ Ingolfr’s thought was sincere, despite the flattery.

_… Yes. Thank you._

Verea was, like all dragons, a bit vain. Being female, she was more vain than most. She did take a certain pride in ensuring that her scales were always clean and could catch the eye of any creature on land or in the sky. As Saphira often said, it was only right that all prey cower in fear as well as awe before a creature as magnificent as a dragon. And to a dragon, everything was prey.

So if she preened a little at the attention, something she did not often receive from her Master (who could be just as vain), she would only ever admit it to Nesnes.

 _I should like to see the sand of the Hadarac Desert someday,_ burnt-sand-young-Beroan thought. _As I am so often reminded, my scales would blend in perfectly._

Verea turned a silver eye on him. In the bright morning sun, the subtle undertones in all of their scales were more obvious, highlighting Verea’s silver accents and Ingolfr’s bluish tinge. She had not yet spent much time considering their scales. Beroan’s were indeed the color of desert sand, a pale orangey golden color, but there were shadows of darker orange along his wings and legs. The translucent webbing of his wings was a nearly-true yellow, the color of the sun, and his eyes were a pale gold. 

Then Verea shifted her head to look at pale-winter-sky-young-Ingolfr. She had mistaken him almost for pure white from above, the first time she glimpsed their ship meandering up the Edda river. He was, in fact, a very light blue, that darkened around the edges of his scales and all along the ridge of his spines. She recalled that Saphira had used the word "glacier" when describing the hatchling the night before, but Verea could not attest to the color of a glacier, as she did not exactly know what it was. Dragons all tended to use different descriptors for one another — simply pulling the first color they thought of out of their heads to use before a name.

The trio flew in companionable silence for the better part of an hour. It was quite early yet, the sun having only just rose above the horizon, and it would be a little while before their Riders were truly awake and ready for the day. The walls of Argetfell’s crater were so high that it blocked some of the light of the sun, and they would not see a glimpse of direct sunlight until several hours after dawn, when it was high enough to peek over the edges of the mountaintop.

 _Your Rider told ours about the wild dragons last night,_ burnt-sand-young-Beroan said abruptly.

Verea blinked at him. They had drifted apart so that they were not brushing wingtips anymore, but had remained in a fairly tight formation. _Yes. I was listening._

 _As were we,_ Ingolfr replied, a bit defensively.

 _Good. The Masters were serious when they described the most important part of your training to you, as they greeted you at the base of the mountain. You must always be paying attention to your Riders._ She curled her lips into an approximation of a smile again. _Bjartskular often says that she can only keep Eragon out of trouble when she is constantly watching him. Apparently he used to get himself into many a scrape whenever she took her eyes away._

Both hatchlings let their amusement color their thoughts. _I have heard many a tale of his wartime escapades,_ Ingolfr said.

_As have I. She’s right, too. My Rider has often found trouble where there should have been none, and either only escaped with my help, or made it worse without me._

_We would love to hear such a story!_ Beroan altered his flight path to cut in closer once more. _I still feel as though I know nothing about you, or Nesnes. Alagaësia does not receive much word of the progress of training the new generation of Riders._

Verea was silent for a long moment. She could tell that the hatchlings were suddenly a bit apprehensive, perhaps worried that they had crossed some line. _Aye,_ she thought to herself, _males really are a little more conscientious._ Then, to the both of them she thought, _I’ll tell you the story of my hatching, briefly. When Nesnes called me from my egg, she moved away too quickly, and I hatched into the lap of a young Kull. The Urgals all around us started to bellow and cheer, which frightened me, and I fell backwards onto the ground. The elves could tell that something was not quite right, but the Kull had no idea, and he tried to touch me — as they had all been told new Riders would do. Of course, I could not allow anyone but my Rider to touch me, because even though we wouldn’t have forged a bond if I did not want to, only your chosen Rider should be the first to feel your scales. You both remember how disorienting it is, to suddenly inhabit a world outside your shell?_

They both gave the mental equivalent of a nod. _Mostly I remember the light being blinding,_ Ingolfr said with a shiver.

 _Well, imagine that on top of blinding light, you are also assaulted with the sounds of hundreds of cheering Urgals. The elves started to notice that I was trying to get away from the Kull, so they tried in vain to quiet the crowd, but there was no stopping them. That is, until I found Nesnes by her scent and by the feel of her mind, and I leaped forward and flapped my damp wings and landed right in her arms._ Verea let the hatchlings feel her laughter. _Not only did I knock her backwards, she held on to me out of instinct, and the force of the bond knocked her out cold. So there I was, sitting on her chest, looking at a sea of stunned Urgralgra who had all gone silent, astonished that the first rider of their race was a female._

Burnt-sand-young-Beroan hummed through their mental links. _The dwarves of Orthíad were not best pleased when I chose my Rider, either. One of Dí’s kinsmen actually tried to pry me off her chest and demand that I choose another._

_I hope you bit his fingers off._

_Unfortunately, one of the elves who had been carrying my egg fended him off before I could._ Beroan sighed silently. _You should count your blessings, Ingolfr, that you had a more uneventful hatching._

The pale-winter-sky-hatchling narrowed his eyes. _Actually, I was going to say that I’m rather sad I missed out on the excitement._ He was quiet for a moment, then, _Lelan is awake._

Verea felt gently for Nesnes’ mind, far below her. With a good-natured snort, she told the males: _Mine partner-of-heart-and-mind is still asleep. Beroan?_

_Aye, Dí sleeps like the rocks her ancestors were born from._

_Shall we wake them?_ Ingolfr asked.

The young female dragon let out a trumpeting roar that rang for miles. _Let me show you something first._ And without telling them of her plan, she turned away from Argetfell, folded her wings and dropped like a rock. _Keep the sun above your left wingtip, and follow the north-to-south-current-above-the-river._

_Where are we going?_

_You will see._

The cool-shifting-morning-wind whistling past the folds of her wings, the howling of air as it rushed past her snout — Verea knew no better feeling than this! She and the hatchlings had climbed to quite an altitude, so she gave herself a fair amount of time to enjoy the feeling of free fall. Then she inched her wings out, slowing herself incrementally. She was perfectly capable of pulling out of a dive going full speed and still have the muscle to turn corkscrews and fight battles, but it made her chest muscles sore like nothing else. Besides, last month she’d wrenched a wing doing just that, and in between chastising her and healing her wounds, Eragon had made her promise to be more careful in her future dives.

So when she still had several hundred feet before reaching even the highest point on the mountains below, Verea stretched her wings to three-quarters of their span, starting to level out. She like to play a game with herself and see if she could get close enough to a mountain top to scrape her belly on the soft snow without hitting it outright. Eyeing a particularly monstrous snowdrift on the highest outcropping of one such peak, she tilted her wings just so and with a satisfying _WHUMPF_ she plowed a neat furrow in the white powder.

The fresh-clean-cold-snow that fell so thickly on Du Fells Varden meant that the reflection of the sunlight was all but blinding. Verea closed her inner eyelid and called a warning back to the hatchlings: _Careful with the sunlight off the snow! Close your eyelid and pay attention to the shadows, it can be hard to tell where the drifts end and-_

A pained roar interrupted her. Verea dropped a wing and banked hard, growling when she saw Beroan falling like a rock, one of his wings twisted.

The burnt-sand-hatchling had either not been listening or, more likely, had been attempting to show off. He had gone for the same trick — cleaning your claws in the snow as you flew over a drift — and hadn’t closed his inner eyelid. Depth was all the harder to perceive when the sun on the snow made it hard to distinguish shadows. His wing had likely gotten caught on the rock face when he got too close.

 _Beroan!_ Ingolfr cried, folding his wings and diving after his friend. Verea had pulled ahead of them and was farther away, but she was stronger and more experienced, and her greater weight meant she fell faster when she dropped into the same dive. 

_Flap!_ she ordered the panicking burnt-sand-hatchling. _It hurts but you must level out!_

He struggled to do as she asked, stifling yelps of pain, until he was vaguely horizontal but still falling.

_Okay, Ingolfr, grab his good wing around the joint as carefully as you can. I’ll grab his bad one, and we’ll flap. Beroan — keep your wings extended, try to glide!_

The three dragons flapped and glided towards the ground like a great, scaly, three-bodied beast. Hardly an awe-inspiring sight. Verea guided them to the nearest flat outcropping and they helped Beroan land in a soft snowdrift.

Then, when she’d landed, Verea rounded on him. _You must be as dense as this thrice-blasted mountain! What were you thinking?!_ she seethed, her snarl shaking the stone around them. _By Gûntera’s stony balls, did you close your eyes altogether?_

Dragons did not drop their jaws. They did not gape, or drool, or show their teeth for any other emotion than anger or fear. But, Verea noted with a tiny amount of pride, the sand-and-sky-hatchlings did open their mouths ever so slightly out of shock. 

_I…_ Beroan blinked twice. _Yes, Verea-svit-kona. I did not think. I am sorry._

 _Hmph. I should hope so._ She thrashed her tail back and fourth, glancing around the mountainside. _You can’t flap very well, can you?_

He tried, and winced — in as much as dragons ever winced. _Hardly at all._

Verea cast her mind out gently. She thought to try to contact Saphira — they were only a couple of leagues away from the crater, though they’d wandered a little farther on their sojourn to her intended destination. But then she realized that the very thing she’d wanted to show the hatchlings was far closer.

_Melmael?_

Another mind touched her own. It was young, and roiled with the unbridled energy and aggression that all wild dragons possessed. _Midnight-sky-and-stars-scales-young-bonded-Verea!_

Wild dragons were taught to shape their thoughts with language by Eragon and Saphira, but they tended not to use it very often. The easiest way they found to describe conversations with their wild kin was with colors and impressions, vague feelings and memories that they used to illustrate whatever they were saying.

 _The two Rider-hatchlings arrived yesterday. We were flying through the mountains and the burnt-sand-hatchling wrenched a wing,_ Verea said.

Melmael’s mind vibrated with curiosity. Several quick thoughts flashed through the link between them: a vision of Saphira’s blue scales, a group of dragons taking wing, a memory of Eragon murmuring a spell to heal a gash on his tail. _You need Brightscales?_

_No, not yet. But the other hatchling is not strong enough to help me carry Beroan back to Argetfell. Can you help?_

_Dragon-Rider-master-strange-scent-human-elf-Eragon have spice-sharp-good-roast-meat?_

Verea let her amusement ripple across her thoughts. _He will surely make some for you._

_I will help._

The dark-scaled young female turned to the hatchlings, who were huddled next to one another in the snow. With a bit of surprise, Verea realised that Ingolfr was giving Beroan a small stream of energy, trying to ease his pain.

_Careful, hatchling. You need your strength for the flight back to the crater._

_How am I supposed to fly back? Were you speaking with Bjartskular?_ Beroan asked.

_No, another dragon. He is almost here._

The hatchlings’ minds suddenly blazed with excitement, and Beroan seemed to forget the aching pain of his wrenched wing. _A wild dragon??_

_Yes. His name is Melmael._

They leaned forward somewhat. _Orange-and-fire-scales-young-Melmael?_ Ingolfr asked eagerly. _You told us about him — was he not the last wild dragon to have been hatched?_

_I was._

The voice clearly startled the hatchlings, and Verea cocked her head and eyed them amusedly. _You should not share your thoughts too freely. There may always be those around to listen._

The hatchlings’ heads swiveled about, trying to spot their wild cousin, but Ingolfr acknowledged her words with: _We will be more careful, wise-midnight-sky-scales._

Verea flicked her tail and settled onto her haunches, amusing herself with the sight of Beroan and Ingolfr trying to mask their eagerness by sitting with their spines straight and heads held high. They were clearly telling each other privately whether or not they had a dirty scale or a bit of snow on a wing, because they would glance at one another, heistate, then quickly lick the scale or brush the snow away. It was quite sweet that they were fussing over their appearances. And it did make Verea re-evaluate her belief that female dragons were the more vain half of the species.

Finally, with a rush of wind and a roar, a glittering mass of orange and red scales came whipping around the side of the mountain. Melmael was a yearling, so while he was easily twice the size of the hatchlings, Verea still stood taller and had the wider wingspan. As he beat his wings heavily, showering them all with snow, she said, _Wild-flame-scales-young-Melmael, this is bonded-burnt-orange-young-Beroan and pale-winter-sky-young-Ingolfr. They arrived in Argetfell yesterday with their Riders, Dí of the dwarves and Lelan of the elves._

Melmael slunk forward, tongue darting out to taste the air, and he raked his glinting yellow eyes over the two hatchlings. _Well met. Scales-like-desert-first-hatchling-to-choose-dwarf-injured-Beroan, you have hit a mountain._

Beroan’s head dipped in embarrassment, but he lifted it again, and his deeper honey-colored eyes met Melmael’s. _I did. I should have listened to midnight-sky-scales-Verea and closed my inner lid. I have never seen this much snow before._

 _Every dragon makes a mistake. Wrenched-wing-pain, muscles-sore-chest-pain, blood-spilt-from-tooth-and-claw-pain… you will be a better flier for making mistakes._ He came even closer, and although Beroan shifted uncomfortably, he allowed the older male to sniff at his wing. Then Melmael swung his head around to look at Verea. _Twist-at-shoulder-joint-left-wing will be easy to heal. I have done the same. Dragon-Rider-master-strange-scent-human-elf-Eragon and his elf-tongue-magic worked quickly._

 _Yes. The only trouble is to get him back to the crater._ Verea looked to Ingolfr. _Are you able to find your way back?_

Ingolfr snorted, insulted. _Yes, Verea-svit-kona. We are only so many leagues away. I can follow Lelan’s presence from here._

_Then go. Do not alarm them over-much — just warn Eragon-elda that we will be slow in returning and that Melmael is with us._

_I will see it done._ The pale-winter-sky-hatchling pressed his wing briefly to Beroan’s good one, reassuring him, and then bounded away and flapped hard to gain altitude. Soon even Verea’s keen eyes lost sight of him against the white of the mountaintops and the pale blue of the sky. Then she was almost startled at a strange rattling sound from Beroan, and when she whipped around to look, the young female realized he was shivering. Dragons generally stayed quite warm thanks to the fires in their bellies, but hatchlings could occasionally be susceptible to extreme temperatures, especially because they could not yet breathe their fire. 

Being in pain that was taking up a significant amount of energy couldn’t be helping, Verea knew. _Right,_ she said, _Melmael? How will we carry him?_

The burnt-sand-hatchling huffed. _I don’t think I need to be_ carried. _I can still flap my right wing just fine._

 _Unfortunately, you are not trying to go in circles,_ Melmael pointed out wryly. _To flap would make twist-at-shoulder-joint worse. We hold you carefully at base-of-wing on each side._

Verea’s eyes narrowed. _Won’t that aggravate his injury? I had to do it to help us land, but I was hoping…_

 _No other way to hold him,_ the red-orange-gold dragon said. _I will take his good wing — my wings are not as big as yours, she-of-scales-like-clear-night-sky, so he will need to help me to balance us._

Beroan hummed nervously. _It hurts to flap, but I can glide. Should I jump off of this outcropping first and let you catch me?_

Verea’s thoughts spiked with concern first, then amusement, and she puffed a small amount of smoke in his direction. _That is… an awful idea. But all of mine are shit, so why not?_

Once again he seemed taken aback some. _Verea-svit-kona… I have never heard a dragon swear before._

 _Night-sky-wild-spirit-bonded-Verea does not care for words the way wise-leader-scales-of-the-sea-Saphira does,_ Melmael informed him. _You will do well to keep that knowledge to yourself… and to refrain from using the excellent phrases she will teach you out of your thoughts when you train with your Masters._

The ginger-scaled hatchling’s eyes widened even further. _So I should not repeat the phrase 'by Gûntera’s stony balls'?_

Verea choked down her laughter. _Jump off the cliff already, hatchling._

He shivered nervously, but walked over to the edge of the outcropping. After a moment’s pause, he extended his wings — the right one more than the left — tensed his hind legs, and leaped. There were no warm-morning-updrafts to keep him aloft, so he started to drop at a controlled speed, his outstretched wings keeping him from being spun or dashed into the mountainside. Verea and Melmael followed him immediately.

The young female reached him first, and she grabbed the base of his left wing as gently as possible, but she could still feel a small wave of agony from their linked minds. Melmael caught hold of his right wing a split second later, and as best as the two large dragons could, they flapped hard to bring all three bodies aloft. Then they struggled on, a deformed and hideous monster, coasting from thermal to thermal as they wound their way back through the mountains.

Before long Verea heard the far-away claps of thunder that meant their far-larger cousin was approaching. She let the males feel her mental wince, and said, _Bjartskular has come to help us._

From the north, Saphira and Ingolfr came winging their way. The male hatchling was absolutely dwarfed by his Master, whose massive blue wings looked as though they could brush the tips of different mountains when she passed between them. (The distance distorted their views slightly. She was, however, a truly impressive size. Her wings were each a hundred feet long, and several horses could gallop straight into her gaping jaws if they so chose, which horses were generally far too smart to do.) 

_Somehow, I will be blamed for this,_ Verea told Melmael privately.

He snorted. _If the ring fits the talon…_

Indeed, only a minute after she came into view, Verea felt Saphira’s vast mind brush against her own. It took her a moment to realize that Eragon’s mind was present as well, which meant that he was riding on her back. It was the man who spoke first.

_Verea-finiarel, we are told that Beroan has hit a mountain._

_Yes, Masters. His wing came into an unfortunate close proximity with some rock._

_Tell me,_ Saphira’s voice rumbled. _Why was his wing so close to the rock?_

She let her Masters feel her frustration, as well as her small amount of guilt. _I was attempting to teach them how to fly around mountaintops full of snow, and that closing your inner eyelid is the best way to block the sun’s glare. Beroan was… unsuccessful._

Now Verea felt the difference between her Master’s minds more distinctly, as Eragon’s laughter trickled through their mental link, even as Saphira’s thoughts colored with exasperation.

 _Very well._ Then the blue dragon included Beroan and Melmael into their conversation. _Bright-fire-scales-Melmael, it is good to see you. Sand-scales-hatchling-Beroan, your Rider is waiting eagerly for your return. She is also most looking forward to hearing your explanation for the sudden searing pain through your bond that woke her up at dawn this morning._

Beroan shivered again so suddenly that Verea nearly dropped him.

 _Are you afraid of your Rider?_ Melmael asked him privately, curious.

 _No,_ the younger male replied defensively. _But… you should see some of the inventive insults the partner-of-my-heart-and-mind can come up with when she is angry with someone. The last time I interrupted her sleep, she called me a "gods-forsaken thick-skulled useless reptile."_

Verea nearly dropped him again when her chest shook with laughter. _I believe your Rider could teach mine some things about creativity._

Saphira and Ingolfr reached them then. The latter stayed above them, circling while Verea and Melmael beat their wings in one place. Saphira then dropped below them and rose up again until Beroan was squarely above the middle of her back.

_You may drop him now._

Verea and Melmael released their holds on the hatchling, and he half-glided, half-fell onto Saphira’s back. She labored for a moment under the extra weight, but he was only twenty feet long, and Brightscales was a strong flier. She carried him off in the direction of the crater with the other three dragons following.

 _I hope all of our morning adventures will be like this,_ Ingolfr said brightly.

Beroan let his friend feel some of his displeasure with that statement. _Next time_ you _can fight a mountain, you useless reptile._

Verea and Melmael roared with laughter, and the latter decided not to tell Beroan that Saphira and Eragon had heard that last part. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope Melmael's speech patterns weren't too confusing. Paolini never showed any interaction with wild dragons in the books, other than a few ancient Eldunarí, and they were pretty beyond speech. In this universe of mine they are more than capable of using words to communicate with others, but often choose to color their thoughts with impressions and descriptions, because they do a lot less interacting with speaking creatures.
> 
> I'd love some ideas for what y'all would like to see from the early days of Rider training, so drop me a comment down below!


End file.
